Diamonds Are Forever
by Stella Cadente
Summary: Spectacular Spectacular was a brilliant success, but its opening night also brought tragedy and incredible heartbreak . . .
1. Diamonds Are Forever

  
  


**Diamonds Are Forever**  
_Chapter I_   
  
  
**Author's Note**: Ha, I defeated the system and finally got my tags to work! This is my first Moulin Rouge piece -- and first real fanfic, actually -- and I would really appreciate any type of constructive criticism. It's sort of ... short, and not exactly what I was planning to do, but I suppose that I can always add stuff in the next few chapters. Oh, and I don't own any of the character's or anything, someone else faraway does.   
  
  
----------------------------------- 

  
  
  
Satine sat in her dressing room, solemnly picking up various jewels and rings that had been scattered haphazardly across the tabletop. The rest of her room had already been cleaned out, likely to just be refurnished later for Harold's next new star -- the next rags to riches girl who would replace Satine as the Sparkling Diamond of the Moulin Rouge. After carelessly depositing her jewelry into a smaller bag, she rose from the vanity table and made her way onto the empty, dark stage. Softly, almost with trepidation, Satine began to sing.   
  
_"My gift is my song and this one's for you  
And you can tell everybody this is your song  
It may be quite simple but now that it's done  
I hope you don't mind  
I hope you don't mind that I put down in words  
How wonderful life is while you're in the world"  
_   
Except he wasn't. Not anymore.   
  
---   
  
"I'm staying with the Duke. After I left you, the Duke came to see me, and he offered me everything. Everything that I've ever dreamed of. He has one condition: I must never see you again. I'm sorry," Satine offered, though her voice lacked any emotion that could convince Christian that she truly meant her words. Christian, however, looked as if he'd just been stabbed through the heart -- and he had, really.   
  
"What are you talking about?"   
  
"You knew who I was." Satine paused, stunning blue eyes somehow remaining free of the tears she so desperately wanted to cry. "I wouldn't expect you to understand. The difference between you and I is that you can leave anytime you choose." Oh, if only Satine had known how true her words were. "But this is my home. The Moulin Rouge is my home."   
  
"No ..." Christian cried pitifully. "There must be something else, this -- this can't be real."   
  
Satine offered no response, instead turning and starting towards the door. Christian hurried to grab her by the arm, not allowing her to leave. "Tell me the truth! Tell me the truth!" He shouted passionately, trying to keep his grasp on Satine as she tried to free herself from him.   
  
"The truth?" Satine echoed detachedly, still struggling to hold back her tears. "The truth is, I am the Hindu courtesan, and I choose the Maharajah." The words were flying daggers to Christian. Thunder boomed in the distance, almost as if someone had cued the ominous sound. "That's how the story really ends," she finished quietly. Satine made her hasty exit then, leaving Christian there, stunned.   
  
---   
  
Satine shook her head, spilling fiery curls over her bare shoulders. The recollection was almost too painful to bear, and, even though nearly a year had passed, Satine was still guilty and broken up about it all. With one last glance around the empty theater, Satine made her way down the aisle way -- one that she'd walked many times, but seemed to have grown in length now. After what seemed like a mile, Satine found herself outside the Moulin Rouge, standing the streets of Montemarte.   
  
Tears brimmed over the edge of her kohl-lined eyes, sliding down porcelain-like cheeks and eventually falling to the snow covered ground. The decision to leave the Moulin Rouge wasn't one made rashly -- instead, Satine had fawned over the notion for nearly a year, beginning the day after Christian's death. Without him beside her, she couldn't bare to go on there -- much less in Montemarte, or anywhere else, for that matter.   
  
What had happened was still unknown to her, and that sort of unrest often kept Satine up at night. It was all so sudden. After the curtain call for Spectacular, Spectacular (which really was a surprising success despite the ... improvising that was done), Satine went to her dressing room to undress when a knock came on the door. She still remembered the day so clearly.   
  
  
  
_ "Come in!"   
  
Harold opened the door a crack, Marie at his heels. Satine smiled faintly, watching his red, bushy face poke through the opening in the door in her mirror. Her smile soon faded when she noted his dire expression.   
  
"... Satine," he said softly, moving to stand behind her and stare at her reflection in the mirror. Satine stared at his reflection, too, not daring to turn to actually look him in the face. Butterflies of worry and anticipation flitted around in her stomach, waiting for the news that was to come.   
  
"Christian's dead, Satine."   
  
His words were like a steel pipe hitting her in the back of the head.   
  
"What? No, Harold, don't -" Satine began in disbelief, though she was unable to complete her thought. "It's ... it's not true."   
  
"Oh, sparrow, I'm sorry." Harold's sympathetic words fell on deaf ears, as Satine was reduced to sitting numbly in her chair, staring past her own reflection._   
  
  
Satine woke from her reverie, and then continued on into the carriage that Harold had ordered for her. Her good-byes had already been said -- with the exception of one, but that was about to change. 


	2. Such Cold Marble

  
  


**Such Cold Marble** _Chapter II_   
  
  


"We're here, Miss Satine."   
  
Satine shifted uncomfortably in the back of the carriage, pulling a few ruffles from the hem of her dress out of her way as she stepped outside. After the driver helped her out, he climbed back into the driver's seat and nodded to her, silently signaling that he would wait for her. Returning the nod, Satine turned towards the grounds before her -- a graveyard, that was covered with snow. She exhaled, breath turning to white at contact with the cold air, and then began towards a certain tombstone.   
  


_Christian James The greatest thing you'll ever learn, Is just to love, and be loved in return. 1878-1899 _

  
  
The quote on the tombstone before her brought a vague, though distant smile to Satine's face, and there was a tinge of sadness to it. She lowered to her knees before the grave, then reached out so that her fingers could brush along the traces of his name.   
  
"I'm so sorry," she said quietly, speaking as if Christian could hear her -- and in the depths of her heart, Satine really did believe that he was listening. "I'm sorry I lied, Christian, I'm sorry I said all those terrible things." Her voice began to quiver, so she dropped her head and fell silent for a moment's time. "I really do love you, Christian. I just wish you could've heard me say it one more time." Her expression grew pained, and her eyes fell shut to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall once more. Satine leaned forward, bare hands pressing into the cold snow, so that she could press red-painted lips to the cold marble before her. "Come what may," she breathed onto the stone, wishing that it were Christian, if only for one second.   
  
Satine made her way back to the carriage and was assisted in by the driver. "Take me to the train station, please," she called to him, then reached to pull a slip of paper from her purse -- a train ticket to London.   
  
  
  
_"Satine! Satine!" Christian's wails were soon silenced when a guard came and knocked him across the face. They grabbed him by each arm and dragged him off, though he did not go easily. His kicks and cries of protest were futile, though, as Christian soon found himself flat on his face, outside the gates of the Moulin Rouge. Clambering to his feet, Christian turned to glance at the slowly turning windmill one more time. He opened his mouth to call out her name again, but realized that his efforts were useless -- even if she did hear him, she wouldn't respond. After all, it was just an act, wasn't it?   
  
  
Christian hastily grabbed the wad of bills that the pawner had offered him for his typewriter. While he wasn't readily willing to give up his Underwood, he had unfinished business to attend to, and if all things turn out as he hoped they would, he wouldn't mind the loss of it at all. But somehow, Christian doubted that the night would end as he had originally planned.   
  
At the doors to the Moulin Rouge, Christian could hear one of the numbers ending -- a song that he'd written, of course. Deciding that bursting through the front doors wouldn't be the best option, he quickly made his way to the back exit and slipped in. He wasn't greeted pleasantly, though; instead, he was greeted by a rather agitated Warner, who held a pistol in his right hand. Christian's steps froze.   
  
"I've only come to repay my ... my debts," he said quickly, though Warner didn't seem to care, and moved not from the doorway. Seeing this, Christian continued. "The Duke can have Satine -- I've only come to pay her for her ... her services!" His voice rose in volume at the end, spite lacing his words. With that, Christian angrily pushed past Warner (which came as a shock to both, as Christian wasn't exactly equal in size to the other man) and burst into Satine's dressing room.   
  
Only, she wasn't there. Not knowing what else to do, Christian turned back around and exited the dressing room the same way he came. A glimpse of red hair fueled his steps, causing Christian to almost begin to run towards Satine. Warner had perfect timing, though, and stepped out of a shadow quickly enough to cause Christian to run straight into him. The collision knocked him back a step or two, and he fell to the ground. The money he carried spilled across the floor, but he did not scramble to pick it up. The gun that Warner had pointed at his head was much too distracting.   
  
Crawling backwards, Christian tried to disappear from Warner's sight, but he was unsuccessful. After backing into a wall, he fumbled around blindly for something -- anything -- that could distract the other long enough for him to get away and to Satine. Christian suddenly fell backwards, though a back door that had opened against the weight of Christian's back, and found himself outside, in an alleyway behind the Moulin Rouge.   
  
  
_ "The train station, Miss Satine."   
  
The driver's voice woke Satine from her light sleep. She sat up straight and tried to reposition a few curls that had fallen from the bun she wore during her sleep, but they were unruly and refused to be tamed. Satine gave up and then left the carriage, taking her back from the driver with a simple nod. "Thank you," she offered politely.   
  
"Quite welcome, Miss Satine. Enjoy London."   
  
Enjoy indeed. Satine still wasn't quite sure _what_ she was going to do once she arrived in London, but she supposed that she could figure it out as soon as she got there.   
  
Before long, Satine found herself on a train to London. She'd picked a window seat, and had resigned to staring out the window blankly, watching the trees and scenery as they passed. 


	3. The Ghost Of You And Me

  
  


**The Ghost Of You And Me**   
_Chapter III_

  
  
  
  
The hotel she'd chosen was far from elegant, but it was all she could afford -- granted, she had quite a bit of money saved and even some more that Harold and Marie had given her, but since Satine lacked any sort of plan, she didn't quite know how her money would need to be used. Better safe than sorry, they say.   
  
"Do you have a reservation, madame?" Despite the hotel's rather cheap appearance, the clerk was perfectly polite and conducted his business superbly.   
  
"Yes. Satine James," she replied to the clerk. While Christian and she had never been married, Satine took it upon herself to take his last name. It was only proper, since she was sure that she'd not marry in her lifetime to come.   
  
"Ah, yes, Mrs. James. You're in room 6, on the fourth floor." Satine had requested a top floor, simply because that's what she was used to. The view from her room over the Moulin Rouge had grown on her, and she could hardly imagine staying on some ground-level room with no view.   
  
"Thank you." Satine was left to carry her own back up to her room. Halfway, on the second floor, the steps and walls began to spin around in her vision. The bag dropped to the floor and Satine reached for either wall to brace herself, eyes falling shut as a dry cough overcame her. Such coughing fits and dizzy spells were not uncommon, though she'd been having more as of late. Finally, after gaining a hold of her bearings, Satine wiped the corners of her mouth, lifted her bag, and continued on towards her room.   
  
Once there, she collapsed onto the bed, sighing in exhaustion. It wasn't long before sleep took hold of her consciousness.   
  
  
_The snow was cold against Christian's hands and back, and he struggled to his feet, blue-grey eyes all the while fixed on the smooth black pistol Warner had pointed at him.   
  
"I ... what - what are you doing?" Christian stammered in fear, backpedalling until his back crashed against a brick wall opposite the door he'd fallen out of.   
  
"Just following orders," Warner replied ominously. Christian could hear the cocking of the gun so loudly that he thought the whole world might've heard.   
  
"No ... no, don't!"_   
  
  
Satine shot up in her bed, a cold sweat causing her body to wrack with shivers. The echoes of Christian's cry reverberated in her ears, though the room around her was dead silent.   
  
"Christian ..." she whispered softly, one hand lifting to press against her chest. Her heartbeat was rapid and he breaths came quickly and were shallow. Tears had even begun to form in the corners of her sapphire eyes, but Satine struggled to hold them back. A glance around the room confirmed that everything she just saw had been a dream -- though it certainly was a possibility that that was how Christian's life had been stolen.   
  
Climbing from the bed and to her feet, Satine moved towards the window. Fingers pressed against the window pane gently, expression having turned from fear to sadness. She gazed longingly out the window, wishing somehow that she was back in Montemarte, watching the red windmill turn mechanically in the snow-filled sky. Satine instead found herself looking over a rather poor part of London, where the streets were dirty and windows were lit sporadically across town.   
  
And then, Satine felt as if someone else was in the room. At first, she was hesitant in turning, but she finally moved to face the room.   
  
Empty.   
  
Satine couldn't resist the song that came to her heart, then.   
  
_"What am I supposed to do with all these blues, haunting me  
Everywhere, no matter what I do  
Watching the candle flicker out in the evening glow  
I can't let go  
When will this night be over?"_   
  
She paused, and gasped for a breath of air when she found that she couldn't breathe. After only a short moment, she continued.   
  
_"I didn't mean to fall in love with you ...  
Raising my glass, I sing a toast to the midnight sky  
I wonder why the stars don't seem to guide me  
I didn't mean to fall in love with you ..."_   
  
Her voice lowered to a bare whisper near the end, before Satine was completely silent again. One last glance over her shoulder was spared, and she thought for a moment she could see, far off the in the distance, a silhouette of a windmill turning. She dared not look twice, for Satine knew that if she did, she'd only be disappointed to find nothing.   
  
Instead, she preserved the image of the windmill, of Christian, of the days when she was truly happy.   
  
Satine moved back to her bed and crawled beneath the covers, eyes falling shut. Though her sleep would be restless that night, she knew that there would be no nightmares.   
  
  
  


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I might've stretched a little here, rambled some, and posted a bunch of nothing, but ... oh well. The song is "The Ghost of You and Me," by BBMak. 


	4. I Don't Know

  
  


**I Don't Know**   
_Chapter IV_

  
  
  
  
When Satine woke the next morning, there was a dull ache in her temples. Two fingers pressed against her temple on either side of her head, massaging clockwise for a minute. Finally, Satine climbed from the bed and wrapped her robe around her, then moved towards the bathroom to get ready.   
  
Thirty five minutes later, Satine emerged from her room and made her way to the busy London streets. After looking left, then right, she finally decided to go the former direction -- left. Her sense of direction had always been rather keen, but Satine knew next to nothing about the streets of London; she could only hope that she didn't get lost, and that if she _did_, someone would be kind enough to turn her in the right direction.   
  
Any normal person would peruse the classified ads in the daily paper, but not Satine. She knew how she wanted to make her living in London, though she wasn't sure that it'd be so easy to find a job. Of course, Satine knew that if worse came to worse, she could always find a pub in a dark alleyway somewhere that would hire her. That was the last thing she wanted to do, though.   
  
By some stroke of luck, a piano bar just two blocks ahead was holding auditions for a new singer. Their last one had quit rather suddenly, and it was of utmost importance that they find a replacement _that day_. A table covered with a black table cloth was set up in the street, a rather attractive young woman sitting behind it with pristine posture. She had three stacks of paper before her -- one of applications, one of a job description, and one of the lyrics to the try-out song.   
  
Satine crossed the street quickly to avoid being hit by a car, and then caught site of the table. Her steps carried her to the very edge of the sidewalk, gaze drifting upwards to read the sign above the building in which the table belonged -- _Martin's_ was all it said, and relayed little information as to what it was or why there'd be a table in the middle of the sidewalk. Curiosity got the best of her, and Satine slowly sauntered to the table, hands clasping together in front of her.   
  
"Excuse me."   
  
The woman was already gathering papers for Satine. "Fill these out," she said stoically, shoving the papers in Satine's face. Taken aback by her bluntness, Satine steped back and then awkwardly accepted the papers.   
  
"What are they?"   
  
"Oh, I'm sorry," the woman apologized, though she hardly meant it, and began to reach back for the papers. "I though you were here for the auditions."   
  
Satine held the papers, reluctant to give them back now that she'd heard the word _audition_. "Audition for what?"   
  
"For the singing position."   
  
"Thank you!" Satine replied quickly with a brilliant smile, stepping past the table and woman, into the piano bar. At first, she was rather stunned by the amount of girls inside the room. Most were dressed rather formally, and Satine suddenly felt terribly underdressed. If she had the time to go back to her hotel to change, she most certainly would have. As she entered, many of the women turned to survey the competition, making Satine feel as if she were two inches tall, despite the fact that she towered over most woman (and even most men).   
  
When interest in her dwindled, Satine moved towards the table situated just slightly to her left. The registration process went quickly, and she received barely more than a passing glance from the man sitting there – something she wasn't quite accustomed to, that much was for sure – before being told to wait amongst the other ladies until her number was called. Satine did as she was told, offering only a word here and there to thank the appropriate people, and settled into a chair to think about what song she wanted to use.   
  
  
"Two-twenty-three!" Satine stood up and quickly made her way onto the stage, brushing off a few pieces of lint that she was suddenly aware of, thanks to the bright stage lights. "Your music, please." The interviewer looked rather stoic and unemotional, holding a clipboard on his lap rigidly.   
  
"I haven't any," Satine replied softly.   
  
"Then what do you expect us to do with you?" He asked harshly, almost elliciting a wince from his neighboring interviewer.   
  
"I'd ... I'd like to sing without music, if it's not too much trouble." Satine received from the interviewer only a wave of the hand, signalling that she was free to begin whenever she pleased.   
  
"A mountain of stone, a door of steel Can't stand in my way; I'd go on Brutal machines, unbending laws Can't slow me down; I'd go on I've learned how to deal and when to fight I know what's real, I know what's right I'm not afraid, a wounded dove I can be tender in a world so tough."   
  
Her eyes fell shut, images flashing behind her eyelids.   
  
_You knew who I was.   
  
I don't expect you to understand.   
  
That's how the story really ends._   
  
  
"I'm sure I could face the bitter cold But life without you--I don't know ...I don't know."   
  
  
_Just leave, Christian._   
  
  
"The winds of the heart can blow me down But I get right up and I stand my ground I've tasted fear, my share of pain The wasted tears of love in vain I've held you tight, pushed you away Now, with all my might, I beg you to stay."   
  
  
_Go. Please go._   
  
  
As Satine finished her the last line of her song, she opened her eyes. She blinked at the bright lights that she'd grown unaccustomed to since parting with the Moulin Rouge, trying to see the faces of those who had been watching her in stunned silence. Even the main interviewer sat and stared in awe.   
  
"Thank you," he managed to choke out. Satine nodded humbly to him, then left the stage and the piano bar.   
  
Once outside, Satine exhaled a deep breath, releasing with it a few tears that she'd been struggling to hold back. Didn't Christian know that she was trying to protect him? Maybe Harold was right when he said that she was a great actress – maybe _too_ great an actress. Satine had relived that day so many times before, and her words echoed inside her head. Despite the words of some, she convicted herself guilty of Christian's murder, even if she hadn't held the gun.   
  
After wiping away her tears, Satine hurried back down the street, towards her hotel room.   
  
  
"Who was _that_?" The second interviewer asked, leaning towards the first to whisper.   
  
After a brief glance to his clipboard, the first looked back to his colleague. "Satine James."   
  
"James?" The second interviewer, Eric Ainsworth, echoed, thick brows furrowing as he sort through his memory to figure out just why the last name seemed to familiar. There were probably _millions_ of people with that last name in London, but something about Satine struck Eric – she was different somehow, familiar.   
  
"Don, I have to go. I'll be back later," Eric whispered quickly, getting out of his seat to quickly exit the piano bar from the same door that Satine had used.   
  
There was something about her, and he had to know what.   
  
  
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Song credit to Celine Dion, "I Don't Know." Had to cut it off a bit earlier so that I could use it to serve my purpose, heh. It's a rough chaper, I know, and I'd appreciate reviews and constructive criticism so that I can maybe rewrite it. 


End file.
